


Abandon All Hope - deleted scene

by NineWheels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Comfort, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NineWheels/pseuds/NineWheels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My girlfriend doesn't write fanfiction often enough to want an account of her own, but she felt the need to write a couple of Dean/Ellen smut fics, and asked me to post them with my account. So I did!</p><p>It may be their last night on Earth, and, spurred by a tender, intimate moment, Dean and Ellen decide to spend it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abandon All Hope - deleted scene

After the camera had snapped the picture and they were all standing around awkwardly, Bobby broke the silence. “Okay, everybody, time to hit the hay now!”

Sam clinked his beer bottle against Bobby’s glass. “We want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed so we can go get our asses kicked tomorrow morning.”

Dean held up his bottle to his brother’s. Clink. “Sleep fast, Sammie.” Ellen said nothing, but she and her daughter exchanged a long look, and then Ellen headed upstairs to Bobby’s old bedroom – taking the long way through the kitchen, and the whiskey bottle with her. Jo wrapped herself up in a quilt on the floor, Bobby dozed in his chair, and Sam’s long frame was already draping itself over the only sofa.

Dean meant to go right to sleep. God knows he was freaking exhausted. But after all, he had this whole beer to finish. So he went outside to the back porch. The sky was covered in stars, of the worrying kind. And suddenly there was light coming from… coming from where? More fucking angels? Aw, hell, not now. He jumped up, spun around, dropping his beer. The bottle smashed on the flagstones, and he cursed aloud. The light was coming from just about him – from the room that had once been Bobby’s before the stairs became problematic with his wheelchair. The window opened. A loud whisper. “Dean, is that you making that ruckus down there?”

Ellen’s voice. Shit. “Uh, yes ma’am. Hope I didn’t disturb you.”

A derisive snort from above. “Disturb me, shit. Come on up here, boy, and have a drink with me.”

No one ever said no to that, especially not to a beautiful woman who could shoot better than him, and in fact had beaten him at arm wrestling at least four times. He tiptoed through the living room of sleeping people, and up the stairs.

She was still dressed in her jeans and tank top, but had taken off her shoes. There was already a significant dent in the bottle, but she didn’t seem drunk. She patted the bedspread next to her, and offered him the bottle.

Damn, did that slide down smooth. “Been saving this bottle, have you?”

She took it back, took another long pull. “Well, with all that last night on earth crap.”

Dean cringed at the memory of his chat with Jo. “Shit. I’m real sorry about that. And I don’t even know what I was thinking, she’s like the coolest kid sister ever. I’m sorry, Ellen, I didn’t mean any disrespect.” She laughed at him, drank more whiskey. “What, am I funny?”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re just you, Dean. Never would expect otherwise.” She laughed again, almost a little sadly. He laughed too, and fist-bumped the bottle. They sat a moment in companionable silence. She turned serious eyes to him. “You scared about tomorrow?”

There are times when the macho exterior just goes out the window. “Hell yes I am. I’m freaking terrified about tomorrow. And I know I won’t be able to sleep, I’ll be busy worrying about if something is going to happen to Sam, while concentrating on not letting him notice I’m worrying.”

She passed him back the bottle. “You and me both, my friend. I’m going to spend the whole time in a panic because Jo will be there, and if something happens to her it will be my fault, and still have to keep up the brave soldier mom face. Sometimes it sucks.”

Dean hadn’t thought about it this way before, but the two of them really had quite a lot in common beyond the hunting. He took another swig from the almost-empty bottle, and almost choked on it when suddenly Ellen was clutching his arm with a vise-like grip. “When we’re out there, Dean, you’re going to have her back, right? I’ll help, and I’ll help Sam, but you’re the best hunter here, please tell me you’ll protect Jo! She’s all I have. I can’t lose her.” She wasn’t crying, but her voice was strained, and for the first time he noticed the cracks in her armor.

He took her face in his two hands. “I will.” He promised, and he meant it. “I will do absolutely everything I can to keep Jo safe.” Her eyes pleaded with him to be right. “Anyway, Jo’s a BAMF, like her mom. She’s going to come out all right.”

Ellen flung her arms around his neck. “Thanks, Dean”, she whispered into the flannel of his shirt. He hugged her close, and she pressed her cheek against his. The flesh was warm. She put a kiss there, and he hugged her tighter. When the lips thing happened, it surprised them both.  
They froze, lips still brushing, a bit shocked at ending up here… and then something in the air seemed to say “fuck it”, and then they were kissing for real, tugging desperately at each others’ clothes, and falling back on to the bed together.

Her hair was so soft. No matter how she would guide his hands to other places, they would always wind up tangled back in her hair. She ran her hands over his skin, that baby face of his, so tender. They went up on their knees together, fevered hands everywhere, and he pulled her shirt off as she tugged at his. She had already taken off her bra in anticipation of going to bed, so there was nothing between him and her breasts, full and firm in his hands, each one topped by a brown berry of a nipple. He rubbed a callused fingertip over one, and she whimpered. Still up on their knees, he turned her around, so her back was against his chest, and she purred with frenzied delight as he stroked her breasts and belly, working his way lower, and all the while she ground her bottom against the bulge she could feel through his jeans. He pushed her hair aside and gently scraped his teeth against the side of her neck. She gasped, then said “holy SHIT, boy.”

He tipped her face back so he could kiss her – she tasted like whiskey and honey – and then said “Wish you’da noticed, Ellen – this boy grew up a long time ago.” And then the buttons on her jeans were open, and he was slipping his hand down into her warm wetness.

She was slick as hot oil, and his fingers stroked and pinched and thrust, while the other hand roamed about her breasts. She moaned, clutching at his thighs, and her hips rocked back and forth against him. “Keep your hands behind your back,” he growled in her ear, “and open your knees for me.” And he added, because she wasn’t just anyone, “Please.”

She giggled a little. Damn right – and obeyed, her head reeling. Of course, Ellen Harvelle had never been one to do exactly as she was told. When Dean first felt the zip on his jeans being tugged down, he grinned to himself. Why the HELL was I not trying to do this with her from the day we met? The world, it was going away – the angels, Hell, even Sam – he was drowning in her, and that was just fine.

She climaxed twice under his skillful fingers, all the while stroking him up and down. He pushed her backwards on the bed, pulling off her jeans and panties in one motion. She watched him as he stripped off the rest of his clothes, and as she watched, her fingers played lightly between her legs. They glistened. When he joined her on the bed and started to say something stupid like “Ellen are you sure?”, she shut him up by sticking those glistening fingers into his mouth. The charcoal taste of her on his tongue was almost more than he could bear, and he shoved her onto her back, curled his arms around her thighs, and buried his face between her legs. His tongue found the sweet spot with the same accuracy his fingers had done. He spread her legs wider, she grabbed at his hair as her crisis neared, and she stuffed her fist into her mouth to quiet her cries, but he pushed her hand away, and kissed her deeply. She could taste her own juices on his lips, and then he was pushing into her.

He was big, and she was tight, and she shoved her hips up to meet him, wanting to feel every inch. He may have been experienced, but so was she – he did things with rhythm and angle that were terribly impressive, and then she tightened her internal muscles around him and squeezed him tight, and he shuddered. She winked up at him. “Last night on Earth, Dean?”

He pulled her up so that she straddled his thighs, and his hands tangled in her hair again. “Hell, Ellen, if you gotta go, I can’t think of a better way.”

Time became a blur then, and the hours blended together, until finally they slept. When Jo went in to wake her mother in the morning and found them that way, a tangle of limbs and bedclothes, her heart broke – but only for a second. She quietly closed the door again, and, a strangely adult half-smile on her face, went to make the coffee and face the last day on earth.


End file.
